Drunk as drunk on turpentineFrom your open kisses,Your wet body wedgedBetween my wet body and the strakeOf our boat that is made of flowers,Feasted, we guide it - our fingersLike tallows adorned with yellow metal -Over the sky's hot rim,The day's last breath in our sails.

Pinned by the sun between solsticeAnd equinox, drowsy and tangled togetherWe drifted for months and wokeWith the bitter taste of land on our lips,Eyelids all sticky, and we longed for limeAnd the sound of a ropeLowering a bucket down its well. Then,We came by night to the Fortunate Isles,And lay like fishUnder the net of our kisses.